


Delirium Trigger

by engel82



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Angst, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-07
Updated: 2012-05-07
Packaged: 2017-11-04 23:26:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/engel82/pseuds/engel82
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a price to pay to appear normal, and it’s a side of Nick that his team doesn’t get to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delirium Trigger

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for 5.24, 5.25, Grave Danger.  
> Set between season 5 and 6.  
> Prompt: “To destroy is still the strongest instinct in nature.” --Max Beerbohm

The truth is, Nick can’t explain it. Any of it. 

Why he needs to turn off the light and sit on his bathroom floor for hours while Greg’s away. Why he seeks the darkness and welcomes it like a security blanket, or why the thought of the blade against his skin is enough to bring him back from the constant edge of panic he feels when he’s alone. 

And he hates it. 

He hates feeling himself slip away; he hates that of all the things he kept buried, _this_ decided to come out with him from his grave. 

He used to be able to pretend everything was fine.

Long sleeves and hidden scars, a smile to the mirror, and lies for everyone. It used to be easy, no one cared, but now there’s Greg, with his smiles and his touch, and his goddamn need to save Nick, and Nick... he can’t lie to Greg.

:::

There’s something soothing in his state of despair. 

Like somehow it makes him human. It makes him normal, because normal people react like this. He’s one of them. For once he can be the broken one, he can be the one to be saved, the one to be fucked up. For once he doesn’t have to be strong and pretend. 

And yet, it terrifies him.

What if there is no fixing him? What if they all give up? What if _he_ leaves? What if he never was really there to begin with, and what if they are only a lie? What if none of this means anything?

Questions and thoughts and fears tangle together, too fast to grasp, and the blade cuts through everything, silencing them until all that’s left is the sound of his breath and the sight of his blood.  
He can’t tell if it’s the calm before or after the storm, but he really doesn’t care. It’s calm. It feels like before. 

It’s good enough for now.

:::

It usually feels like drowning. 

Like he can’t breathe, and he’s never sure if he’s dreaming anymore. If maybe he died in that coffin, and he’s somewhere between Heaven and Hell. 

Sometimes he wakes up gasping, his throat burning as if he’s been yelling for too long. All the lights are on, and Greg is sitting on the bedroom floor, half asleep against the closet. Other times he’s already awake, and he doesn’t get to wake up from these feelings. 

“What the Hell is wrong with me?”

He hates that he needs to ask. Hates how he needs an answer that doesn’t exist. He hates that his voice breaks when he asks Greg, and he can’t help but to fucking cry when Greg shakes his head and doesn’t know what to say. 

Most of all, Nick hates how he hates Greg for not having an answer.

He used to have answers for everything. 

:::

There are days where he feels bigger than everything, and there are days where he needs Greg to drag him out of bed. 

Most days he feels like himself and a little bit like Superman when they solve a case. Nothing can stop him, and he feels strong. He feels sane. And he can breathe because it’s over, because there’s no more pain or nightmares. 

Because crazy is in the past tense now.

Other days are too much. The pretty, happy façade slowly cracks under the pressure, and Nick has to pretend again. He learns to smile and laugh until he can hide in a bathroom with the sharpest object he can find and carefully tear himself open.

He feels raw and numb all at once like there's nothing in between. Powerless and almighty. Alive and dying. 

Free and falling. 

:::

His own mortality brings him back to life. 

Nick doesn’t want to die. He loves life. He just... he can’t enjoy it anymore. He can’t feel it anymore, because if he does, if he lets himself feel something other than nothing, then he feels everything. 

Every single thing. From the shame of his 9–year-old self, needing his mother to be home, to the terror he felt underground. He feels his parents’ fear, their powerlessness to save him; he feels the guilt of every life lost, of every murderer walking away. There’s no line between himself and the people he cares about. 

His pain isn’t enough anymore, and he can’t stop it. No matter how many times the blade slides into his arm, he can’t contain his insanity any longer. He’s ready for the darkness to swallow him as he dances with his madness, he waits and waits and...

He feels it. He feels Greg. And it’s good. 

:::

The light comes back on; there’s too much blood. 

He still can’t breathe, but he can smile. Even if loving Greg right now is painful. It consumes him entirely; the feeling clutches his heart and elates it at the same time. 

_I’m sorry._ He feels like he can see clearly for the first time, and he’s so close to losing everything. _I’m sorry._ He laughs through his tears because this is all so fucking ridiculous. This is all so fucked up. He’s dying, and he finally feels life. He finally feels real. 

But there’s nothing funny, really. He’s just lost his mind. Even he can tell.

“I’m broken, Greg.” 

It sobers him up to admit it, and he’s ready to let the veil of numbness fall back.

“Not broken, just a little bruised.”

Greg smiles; he’s not going anywhere. Nick breathes again, and the light stays.

:::

In the end, a different set of lies settles in. 

It still crawls under his skin, begging to be let out, begging to be released, the need to reach for the razor and just give into his craving. 

He ignores it. Goes for a run, goes for a smoke; reaches for Greg’s hand instead and breathes in deeply. Slowly. 

_I’m fine_ , and a smile, and everything is forgotten. Short sleeves and control, and it’s like it never happened. 

He walks a thin line between two extremes, and soon the scars are fading. The daily battle between sanity and madness slowly overtakes the constant panic, and he can fool himself into believing he’s safe.

The truth is; it never really ends.


End file.
